Honoring the Dead: Dia de Los Muertos, 8th House in astrology

Elisa Miller Mask for Dia del Muertos

...The 8th house is a haunted house.  Like it or not, you’re a medium, or as they’re calling it now, a ghost whisperer.

Astrologically, the charts of people with mediumship abilities most often have Pluto or the 8^th house or both strong in their charts.The ability usually opens up when someone important to you dies and provides an anchor on the other side. There’s no opt out button for that, so you need to educate yourself on how to shield and protect yourself as well as how to use this ability...from Donna Cunningham's blog and post "Everything you wanted to know about the 8th House ..."

Tonight is Halloween in the US. I opened my email this morning and found a picture of my grand-niece(a year old just) in her elephant ears head-dress. With her mom and dad the family will be a herd of elephants. It's been several years since trick or treaters climbed our Kuli'ou'ou Valley steps in costumes: witches, fairies, princesses, pirates and not so little Blues Brothers with bags and jack-o-lanterns for their booty. Trick or treat. Now in the woods, our dark and winding forest driveway has probably not seen many (if any) costumes and booty bags for Halloween. Haunted houses for Halloween have never been my thing, but maybe that's because I have a real thing for honoring and respecting the dead. Astrologically? I'm one of those with strong Pluto and a stellium (three planets) in the 7th and 8th Houses. "There's no opt out button for that."

Earlier in the week I opened another email with the subject "Los Muertos." The sender, my friend, a healer and lover of dance and music lives here on Whidbey Moku and has a home in Mexico. I read her message and invitation to join her to recognize and honor those who have passed. Sitting here rain drips steadily from the edge of the vardo roof, splatters on the umbrellas that are soaked through with 'ua kalanai. My feet are bare, but I wear my floppy hat and tights as I search for the story to tell on Halloween, the night before Dia de los muertos. I find this blog authored by Christin Acosta and love the pictures on her post about the Mexican Celebration; but especially, I love the words she uses to describe the color of death:

Brilliant colors and stark value contrasts between dark and light with the addition of warm earthen tones make up the complex palette of colors associated the Mexican Celebration of Dia de los Muertos (the Day of the Dead). Not only are these colors seen among the flowers and decorations that make up the various ofrendas  (altars), foods and decor that are part of the celebration, the colors metaphorically and symbolically mirror the mystical underpinnings of the Dia de los Muertos celebration...

Not far from my writing desk, the one that parks inches from the Radiant Electric Heater and allows me a view of the mossy limbs of Tall Ones still fully standing and those toppled ... a photo of my family who passed into spirit decades ago, and not so very long ago keep us company. I see them often and look to them at all times of a day or night. I think about my family who remain fully fleshed and among them I see the robust little girl with the elephant's ears continues a legacy. Even without costume ears my family has elaborate and generous ears!

I wonder whether Pete and I will be able to spend much time inside with my friend and her celebration of Dia de los Muertos. "We'll see, " I wrote back when she said she burns pellets to keep her house warm. The journey through sensitivities that prevent me from socialization has wrestled some of the demons and ghosts from my path: I join people in different places now. That is a change, things change. Part of the life-and-death mediumship Donna Cunningham describes above involves becoming sensitive to the bridges of time and place present everyday. The Ancestors are to me, ever present. As a girl that frightened me, or maybe it frightened my parents and they frightened me.

 The shadows always intrigued her, even as a girlchild the patterns that happened onto her skin caused something different. Through the screened window the moon did not ask permission to tattoo her. While everyone else slept, this child made room for the moon and the shadows and grew the voice... an excerpt from my poem Moon Tattoos, All rights protected, 2012 Yvonne Mokihana Calizar [read the poem in its entirety on the side bar of my other blog].

The sun has moved into the sun of Scorpio, my ancestral land. Soaked through as it is now, decay will turn the compost damp with mold. I long for some dry white sandy beach-time. But not now. Tonight is Halloween and perhaps it is time to enjoy the thin vale etween the living and the dead and buy a bottle of beer for my dad, look for a can of evaporated milk for coffee just the way they liked it, packages of soda crackers for my cousin; and play ukulele for them all.

Prayers for the Communities of the East Coast of US

Be safe and well during the storms dear friends. And in particular those who live with lean resources and fragile health. Care for those you love. Care for those around you, and know you are loved. Prayers and leaves of la'i of protection surround you.

.

Malama pono kakou

Inoculated by the Wild

inoculate

verb

Definition: 1. to give a small amount of a disease to a person or animal as a protection against that disease; 2. to introduce an idea into someone's mind in hope that the idea or lesson will [figuratively] grow and become part of the person
Synonyms: immunize, vaccinate, aid, inject, prevent [sickness], protect, ingrain, introduce, insert, implant
Antonyms:
Tips: Inoculate is derived from the Latin inoculare, which means "graft in, implant." To inoculate someone means to implant them with something, whether figuratively, with an idea, or literally, with a vaccine against an illness. Source: http://vocabulary-vocabulary.com/dictionary/inoculate.php

A ragged poultice made from the juice of wheat grass and its pulp is wrapped with a small leaf of la'i (Hawaiian ti leaf). Held at first with a thin rubber band, then one of my hair twisties, and now a couple of proper Band-Aids the poultice does its work. Green stains seep from the wet pulp as I sit to write about something I'm not quite sure is the truth though it truly feels that way in my guts. A few days ago as I went to the warm corner of our Au Hale (the bath house/sewing room/laundry) to get my scarf and jacket a spider frightened me or I frightened her from her cozy place. Instinctively I flung the scarf and Spider went flying against the upright. I had stunned her. "I am so sorry," right away I knew she was hurt and there was nothing I could do to undo my act. I watched for several moments to assuage my guilt and when I saw that she was alive though injured (one of her legs was dangling) and crawling into a new dark hole I finished dressing and went on with the errand which was my original goal.

Two days ago I noticed a small something on my right finger -- the one that types the U and the H -- the pointing finger. It looked like a pin prick. I thought back to what that might be but nothing came to mind, until yesterday. Spider. Two remedies from the plant world are my first-aiders: Noni and Wheat grass. I went for the remedy from home first and slept with a poultice of the Noni fruit leather over night. This morning I opened the wrapping. The bite was infected and two small pricks were visible. More than likely, Spider. Choosing not to panic nor deny something was going on that required attending I told Pete about it. He swiftly asked, "Did you try wheat grass?" I had not. Next he said, "Look it up (on the Internet) and see what you find." I did that. It was early morning and not quite dawn, too dark to go to the Green House to cut and juice the tray of growing wheat. While Pete finished making our oatmeal I searched the Internet and found things to do. Again, I chose not to panic, but acted.

While Pete sat at the laptop and ate his breakfast I pulled on warm clothes and a hat and headed for the Green House. A slim row of the green oxygen and mineral rich wheat grass was my second source of first-aid. Juiced, the grass from Hard Winter Wheat Berries is always growing somewhere near-by. It's a routine, a habit Pete began years ago when we were raw foodies.  Thankful for his consistency we use the juice to nurse ourselves and our JOTS for all manner of injury. This summer when I noticed the Tall One alongside the Quonset was being ruptured by the industrious ants who nest under his skin I asked, "How can I help?" Softly I heard "A poultice of grass," as an answer. I did that and from my vardo window I see the poultice now dried from the summer heat now part of the Tall One and no ants.

In several places in my daily travels to blogs and sites the idea of inoculation has stimulated much commentary (on the blogs) and in my meditations. The definition that precedes this musing is one of many definitions available on the Internet. I chose this one for it offered a broader and more meaningful bridge to cross. From the definition above I found these synonyms useful: " aid, inject, prevent [sickness], protect, ingrain, introduce, insert, implant." I thought of the Tall One with its implant of wheat grass poultice. Again and again the image of our sleek black huntress JOTS after a bout with prey who fought fiercely and inflicted her with wounds. Green juice and poultices applied. Licking the wound and the juice made the healing happen with time.

Astrological inoculation is a topic being discussed at my astrologer's blog. Those discussion stimulate me to make connections between the incidents of my life, my world where the wild is an apothecary. As well as the positions and angles of the heavens which do provide me with awareness, there are options in my first-aid kit that tether me to the wild and I am awed. Here, this morning, Terri Windling offers one more offering, an ointment of art and words that inoculate me. Inoculate me as in 'graft me' to the wild rather than to cure me of the wild I hope to learn successively to note the messages and the messengers where I find them. Windling quotes a writer I wish I had known while she lived in her skin. Ellen Meloy is writer I was introduced to this morning, thanks to Terri Windling. From her book Eating Stone: Imagination and the loss of the wild is this beautiful thought from Meloy:

"Homo sapiens have left themselves few places and scant ways to witness other species in their own worlds, an estrangement that leaves us hungry and lonely. In this famished state, it is no wonder that when we do finally encounter wild animals, we are quite surprised by the sheer truth of them."

Surprised by the sheer truth of how the wild inoculates me through a bite from Spider, a sting from Wasp, a song from Raven, a voice from The Tall Ones -- this  happens as I age and live day and night in the woods. Rather than to cut myself off from the estrangement Meloy speaks of I hope there is enough strength with me to to become more wild, rather than tamed. Stupid? No, unusual in my route is how someone described my ways. Pela. Perhaps.

Raven and Dragon: myth and magic at home

Long ago, near the beginning of the world, Gray Eagle was the guardian of the Sun, Moon and Stars, of fresh water, and of fire. Gray Eagle hated people so much that he kept these things hidden. People lived in darkness, without fire and without fresh water.
Gray Eagle had a beautiful daughter, and Raven fell in love with her. In the beginning, Raven was a snow-white bird, and as a such, he pleased Gray Eagle's daughter. She invited him to her father's longhouse.
When Raven saw the Sun, Moon and stars, and fresh water hanging on the sides of Eagle's lodge, he knew what he should do. He watched for his chance to seize them when no one was looking. He stole all of them, and a brand of fire also, and flew out of the longhouse through the smoke hole. As soon as Raven got outside he hung the Sun up in the sky. It made so much light that he was able to fly far out to an island in the middle of the ocean. When the Sun set, he fastened the Moon up in the sky and hung the stars around in different places. By this new light he kept on flying, carrying with him the fresh water and the brand of fire he had stolen...(link to the Wiki article "Cultural Depictions of Raven" to read the rest of the Raven's tale and the reason Raven is now coal black rather than snow-white. The Wiki link will also site photo credit for the exquisite Tlingit Raven art above.)

AN UPDATE TO THIS POST: This 2011 YouTube caught my attention as I came back to correct the spelling of "Tlingit" ... A project of language preservation, "Persuasive Raven" is a book to book for in the coming years.

Damp and cool partner today. I am sure this is our Pacific Northwest home. Home of Raven. The bowl of green grape tomatoes on our Quonset table ripen above the Radiant heater and when I sit to eat my lunch I reach for the yellow-peach fruit and say, "Yum this is good." Thankful to have the curved shelter and warm space I spent a little time between writing and connecting with an old pal crafting small pockets of warmth into the crevices in the Quonset. Wads of wool weren't enough to keep the damp and cool out. The journey of discovering how to turn a green house frame into a home has led Pete and me back and forth between time adapting skills learned very early on. A builder of bridges, a brick layer--a laborer; a seamstress, daughter of a mother who valued clothespins and safety pins and ironed other peoples' clothes for money we glean the essence of skills over time and adapt what we know. So the pockets of warmth are fashioned from a length of bubble foil insulation taped with Shur-tape two materials we have found useful in our reassembled lifestyle.

In the past few nights ago we watched a couple movies about women's work; one depicts an event in Women's History we'd not know of till we watched Made in Dagenham.Women machinist seamstresses who stitched together the car seats of the Ford Escort in the 1960's stage and carry off a successful strike. During the time of beehive hair dos and mini skirts which I remember first hand, the seamstresses shut down the old boys and laid the basis for equal pay for women in the UK, and beyond. The other was an older (1998)Meryl Streep film One True Thing . The plot of the film, an adaptation of Anna Quinlen's novel, is about a young woman (Ellen) at the rise of her journalistic career forced to return home to care for her mother. Her mother has cancer. From Wikipedia this excerpt of the film:

"As Ellen helps her mother with domestic chores while her father goes about his usual business without helping much, Ellen begins to reassess her views of her parents. She realizes she always brushed her mother aside and idealized her father...

The combined affect of both those movies played at the strings of my experience with the continuum of women's work, a continuum and a collage of roles lived. Not one position over time, but a series of roles and awareness pave the road to equal rights and equal pay is better appraised over a very long time. 

Our pods of living space lifestyle crisscrosses myth and magic everyday and in the process the standards for normalcy change one episode at a time. The bubble wrap insulation packets seal the corner of our Quonset. Vapor and cold stay outside and to add a pinch of luck and magic, I nod to Raven and Dragon and position stickers and stencils with their shapes where they're needed: on the front door, in the corner of fortune, over the holes in the clear, wavy plastic window-wall, in front of the push out window above the sink. Talismans, magic, company, protection. When we chatted this morning, my old pal and I, the conversation led to the place where Crones who are old friends can speak candidly about the angles we get now that we are aging. Changeable? Yes, we are capable of it, and though it embarrasses us to say it we know what a waste of energy it (has been) is to resist change when it's just the thing to do.

Unembarrassed I put dragon stickers on my windows and call on the mana of Mo'o ... "Be with us Goddess!"

Unembarrassed I tell stories about stones -- POHAKU, who birth their babies in a bowl. I water them, and care for them. They grow before my eyes.

 Unembarrassed I decide to choose my affiliations with more discernment; "No, I'll not tell my stories to this group, this person ... they don't deserve this medicine." Saturn in Scorpio is a two point five year stretch of cutting to the chase sooner than later. I take the clue, and apply the skill.

Unembarrased we make room for Raven, for his clan has surely made room for us.

While I opened and explored a way to gather my thoughts and awareness for myth and magic at home I knew Mo'o needed to be part of this piece. Maui Theatre in Lahaina continues a theatrical depiction of Hawaii's people that includes Mo'o.  Ulalena began it's early showing while Pete and I still lived on Maui. There on the stage of the Lahaina theatre was myth and magic at home. I recall watching the production in Lahaina, transfixed and can still hear the clapping of my hand as we participated in the making of rain part of the mythic and inseparable from the magic.

Unlike the other gods in our story, the Mo'o is not a single character; there were many Mo'o who were often worshiped as aumakua (ow-ma-koo-ah), family gods who were more approachable than the great gods and could warn, advise and assist a clan in time of trouble. - from the Ulalena website

Clapping my hands the rain falls and all time is made my present.

Full Moon in Taurus, October 29, 2012: Commit Deeply

A late edit and apology:  The Full Moon in Taurus happens on October 29th ... not 20th ... my typo...so sorry!

The rains have soaked us. Three months of dry weather can do a world of good in a place where the verdant green is a substantial indicator of what is usual. Quiet now, the Tall Ones fill the moku with life -- oxygen and clarity crisp the morning after hours of drenching rain. A line of hemp rope stretched across the window as I write in the vardo extends the rain fly that is now not quite large enough to temper the downpour over the Quonset. Waterfalls dumped from the pockets of the nylon fly as Ka Lani (the heavens) opened up yesterday. We have plenty to do yet to make our nearly finished renovations warm enough for the dropping temperatures to come. Yet the lull of a rain-less morning is just the reminder we need to appreciate the good: shelter, dry surroundings, room to move, people we love. I count on the moon and recognize this is the beginning of the four 'Ole Phases of the moon cycle -- a time to take inventory, mend nets, weed the garden, do maintenance, before Mahina becomes full.

The four full moons of Kaulana Mahina during this malama (month)illuminate a very powerful energy of deep commitment available to us all. My astrologer, Elsa P. gives this insight to the Full Moon in Taurus on October 20, 2012, and in particular this angle fuels me:

...There is a chance for a big win here. A big score.  It could be a bunch of money, but most likley, you have a big idea or a vision of some kind. Now is the time to pull it all together and make a deep commitment to life (Sun) and your emotional (Moon) well-being...

The full moon in Taurus will light up my 4th House, and my North Node (using the unequal house systems). Again and again I write about that Taurus North Node to soothe and encourage the slow and persisting journey of being human. And, accepting that this journey is a changeable one I fold in the small shifts to get a bigger picture.The he'e (the octopus) flashes into my mind as I sit with what I am writing ... pausing to gather seemingly unconnectables, there is a way to commit to this artful life.

Elsa's thought, "But most likely, you have a big idea or a vision of some kind," rings long enough in my na'au (guts) and reaches for this mana'o from Kumu Hula KehauKekua when she speaks about the greed involved in developing the aha of Wailua on the island of Kauai.

“When I teach halau, I have absolutely no inhibitions. Nothing keeps me from speaking to the sacred and the profound. I have amazing trust and confidence in the power of the land and the gods and the ancestors... “Sometimes what appears to be a lost battle is really not. It’s an illusion. The natural world will always shift things back into balance. Some of the development, unfortunately, we’ll have to live with. But in no way, shape or form should it stop us from elevating the sacredness [of Wailua.] ...The pule(prayers) become even more important because you have to work much harder to make the connection, and unfortunately, a lot of people give up. Many have disconnected from the traditional practices. As a Native Hawaiian, I believe it’s our responsibility to continue them, even in these modern times, because sacred places are only in history books unless you’re practicing.”

Like the he'e (octopus) my practice as makua o'o is a path, a garden planted with experience that stretches me; tentacles that were once severed serve as reminders of my disconnection from the traditional practices. Back and forth I have traveled between the sacred places of my birth wandering and wondering if I have the scent of things or just the illusion of them. Never count us deeply connected Scorpio's out and down for the count; we are born to reassemble and rise from the ashes. This full moon approaching is fueling me to appreciate and be responsible for the sacred and valuable traditions that travel with me. Blessed with an enduring coil that depends on the natural world I think of the small stones, the pohaku li'i li'i hanau growing in a bowl of rainwater just outside the vardo. "I think it might be time for you to take care of these," my cousin Mokihana said as she handed me a Tupperware container with a blue plastic lid. Inside I saw four, maybe five stones. Pohaku. "Keep them watered, and malama them," she said. I have, and they do malama(care for) me.

The large stones give birth to the small stones.

Sacred everyday, and the gift of handwriting

I was in town yesterday in and out of the post office, into the local coffee shop and community gathering place where Pete and I are planning to play Konane; meeting and greeting my neighbors and friends who were strangers to me three years ago. Several things needed doing at the post office: a card and letter of condolence needed to be written to my family back on O'ahu -- my aunty passed last Monday; another card to my son's girl friend in France needed a message written and a stamp ($1.10 for a snail mail communication); and finally a piece of mail needed to be forwarded to my son. After paying cash for the postage to France the woman helping me asked, "You're from Hawaii aren't you?" It's been a while since I've been asked that. I said "Yes," and was asked the often accompanying question, "It's quite a change for you, isn't it?' Sometimes, the pair of questions will unwind stories I wish to keep untold preferring to soothe my newly retrained amygdala from inciting a riot of fears and regrets. It really does me no good to light that old fire. Yesterday my mood and my sense of well-being were gently living within me and I chatted with the kind and helpful woman telling enough my story to become a little more known to her. We talked of Pele and the reality of the vog as an issue for me, and many others, who cannot tolerate The Goddess' inevitable magnificence. The making of new 'aina (land) is a powerful responsibility and she, The Goddess takes her kuleana very seriously. Reminders of why I can no longer live on the islands of my birth are present daily; bittersweet acceptance is something I embrace with a tender hand. My heart is bound to those islands and yet I remain inseparable wherever I am ... I know that today as I've not known as a younger woman.

The late October skies and temperature have taken on that cloak of grey wool. It is damp here in the woods as I sit next to the heat with layers of ankle length coverings, a scarf around my neck and an ancient purple sweater. Yesterday in town where the Tall Ones have been cleared for the shops and services that make Langley a sweet to know village, sun warmed me as I sat in the Subaru to write my cards and letter. I recall the feeling of ... what? anticipation as I sat with the pen and three blank pages (cards, a letter) to fill with my handwritten messages. Photographs taken by my friend and turned into cards gave me the visual inspiration to draw words together and scratch them with pen; practicing that craft I have loved since a girl. I wrote stories from scratch and left on the blank page a part of my yesterday.

The first card was written to my uncle(and his children) who grieve the loss of his partner and love of seventy years, and mother who lived to be in her mid-eighties. The photograph I chose for my family was a view of Deception Pass in the fog. Shot off a tri-pod my friend told me it was the last shot of the day and a tri-pod was new to her. The image was sublime in greys, the Deception Pass Bridge linking the grand flood of water below. Almost un-noticed but present in the left lower corner of the photo were leaves of a shrub or tree nearest the camera when MK took the shot. The present -- more dense, deeper and close. Inside I wrote to say we here were with them in spirit, and feel the loss with them across the way. Precisely what I wrote? I don't remember. The second card was written and sent to Granville, France on the coast of Normandie. This protograph was of a "hold fast" a fist size ocean rock at a low tide with glossy sea lettuce flowing from it. Held fast to the rock the two were one. There were thoughts and feelings to share with this young woman who wears my mother's jade and garnet ring. Leaving etchings of my hand on the card bound for Granville I could tell her something about me and my family as the letters connected. The third writing was done on a sheet of note paper with a drawing of a papa kui'ai (poi board) with eight different types of pohaku kui'ai (poi pounders). Onto this sheet of paper I wrote a letter to my uncle filling both sides. I had meant to enclose the letter with the card of Deception Pass, but I had sealed that card. Sometimes the universe and the Muse of Pens will intervene and it is those sometimes that enforce the sacredness of the everyday. Into a separate envelope went my uncle's letter. It was written for him alone.

As I age my comfort with pain changes. The heart ache of pain is as real as a sip of tea still too hot to drink; I love the drink but know sometime waiting is best. It's that way for me when I wish I could be _______ and yet know waiting or releasing is best. I allow myself limited visitations to memories and websites/blogs that present a view of Hawaii that is difficult. One of those blogs is that of Joan Conrow, writer, blogger and nature lover who lives on the island of Kauai. I made my once every several months vist to Conrow's Kauai Eclectic and discovered she has a second blog called Kauaipiko, or PIKO. This post was inspired originally by my visit to Conrow's blogs and in particular this essay from PIKO called "The Sacred and The Profound." (The entire essay is deep and provocative exemplifying the reason I visit Joan Conrow's writing only when I am strong enough to eat it.)

Conrow began her essay-article with this:

"There was a period, last November, when unremitting lightning brought day to the night skies over windward Kauai, as thunder boomed, cracked and rolled. Brisk winds swept in rains so heavy and insistent that streets ponded, mud slid and streams rose, flooding buildings, forcing evacuations, closing bridges and breaking water lines. When it was over, Mayor Bernard Carvalho surveyed the damage and issued a disaster proclamation.

The dramatic display by the elements coincided–though Kumu Hula Kehaulani Kekua would say it was no coincidence — with an aha hoano, a sacred ceremony, that she and other cultural practitioners were engaged in at the mouth of the Wailua River, whose source is Waialeale, the wettest spot on Earth...

I sat and read Conrow's blog describing the sacred and profound displays that go on over and over across the Earth; and witness the duality of language and words' influence on the whole. The great floods on Kauai, the "disaster proclamation" juxtaposed with Kumu Hula Kehaulani Kekua's words of an aha hoano, a sacred ceremony describe the same event. Yet, the story that rivets the memory of most? More than likely, the disaster put upon the streets, buildings bridges and water lines will fill more print. What I was given after reading PIKO was the Universe, my 'aumakua, my collective resources who reminded me to be the cultural practitioner I am in the sacred everyday, everywhere I am. Play games, play music and remember to play from the piko and practice protocol where all things connect.

Many thanks to Terri Windling for the inspiration to value the gift of handwriting, written as she is recovering from flu today, Thursday, October 18, 2012.

Evidence of magic: collecting miracles

Pete and the 'Little House that Grew", October, 2012

Visiting Jay Shafer's Tumbleweed Tiny House, 2007

The Long House with remnants of the original Quonset Hut (the blue back wall)

Once upon a time, not so very long ago two old dears took themselves on a road trip to visit a young wizard who was said to be making quit a stir. That young wizard, who was not so very young, was saying things that made a lot of very important people very leery. Things like, "small is enough" and "tiny" might be just right and on and on. He built tiny spaces and lived in them. Famous people like Oprah found out about the not so very young wizard and invited him to be on her very famous television show. After that ... many more people thought lots and lots of things about him. The two old dears were fighting for their lives (as they knew it at the time) and felt the voice of miracles and magic making stirring in the pot that will not die. Unsure of most of life at that point, the two old dears headed for the wizard in San Sebastopol in California and joined the tiny house wizard for one of his first workshops.

Time has passed and the wizard and the two old dears age and the collection of miracles continues. The wizard is now married with a wife and a son; the tiny house pictured above (the one in the middle of the three) remains the original TUMBLEWEED Tiny House. Since 2007 when we traveled south to California the wizard has influenced and inspired a revolution of grand proportions causing many humans to rethink the necessity and requirements for a house. We, two old dears, were well along the road of rethinking these necessities when we met Jay Shafer. His example and that workshop was a milestone along the path to making nests and growing tiny living spaces. Pictured above is the Quonset Hut 'the little house that grew' into our Long House a tiny bit at a time. The fall winds stir everything up ... inspiring and conspiring with the present to make a future worth enjoying. The pathways have turned to gold with the long needles of pine. Brilliant as any yellow brick road the forest trails are lit with magic. We collect that magic and give many, many thanks for the miracle of appreciating it in the moment.

Hauoli Makahiki Hou ... the new year begins!

Aloha,
Mokihana

GO PLAY: KonaneOnWhidbey

Pete and I have lit up an idea for having some fun this winter. In time for the Makahiki Season that begins with the NEW MOON, Monday, October 15, 2012, we're gonna see if we can find some new (and old) friends to join us for some Hawaiian-style fun. Hawaiian Checkers. KONANE is an ancient board game for two people. Played by ali'i (royals) and maka'ainana (common folk), makua (adults) and keiki (children) the game is easy to learn and grows in complexity as patterns and strategy for play comes over time.We've created space for this play-time with KONANEOnWHIDBEY, putting out a call to the island folks of Whidbey Island (posted soon on our local coconut wireless DREWSLIST) and the publishing our our newest blog www.konanewhidbey.blogspot.com. 

Click on the link to KonaneWhidbey(the link was wrong, it's edited and works now, 'aue!) to get a look at what two old dears are cooking up for some Makahiki fun! If you're in the area, or on the island look us up and come join us at the board (the konane board.)

Happy New Year Hawaiian Style. Hauoli Makahiki Hou,
Mokihana and Pete

Time and Turnings: New Moon in Libra, Monday, October 15, 2012 and the start of Makahiki

Hawaiians observe[d] Twelve Lunar Months every year. Each month featured 29 or 30 lunar phases (the Mauli phase at times being omitted) and was divided into three anahulu called Ho'onui (rising or waxing), Poepoe (full or round) and 'Emi (diminishing).

The start of the new year was marked with the rise of Makali'i, the "little eyes" (Pleiades). The first lunar month of the year, Makali'i, is said to begin with the first New Moon following the rise of Pleiades on the Eastern sky..."

Source: http://www.wpcouncil.org/indigenous/Indigenous_Display-1.pdf

New Moon in Libra, October 15, 2012 is Monday approaching. New Moon, New Year the potential for something new (an idea, a cleaned floor, a washed window) all stack up as a focus as Earth rotates and revolves in the heavens. The astrology of this New Moon? Here's what my astrologer Elsa wrote:

...The new moon is  supported by Jupiter so this offers a great chance for a fresh start on a Monday morning. Jupiter’s energy is protective. It’s benevolent, visionary and expansive. Libra deals with love, money and sociability.  Try to incorporate these things when you set your intention.  More (Jupiter) love (Libra) for example. Try to get along (Libra) with a broader range (Jupiter) of people."

That last line "Try to get along (Libra) with a broader range (Jupiter) of people" rings the bells in me as I get closer to a solar return, a birthday coming in mid-November. The New Moon and the New Year of Makahiki give me cause to celebrate positive and amazing progress in a life that needed reassembling. October 15 marks a year's anniversary of committing to retraining my brain (the limbic system-the ancient brain) and in particular the almond-shaped amygdala. For nearly a year of daytimes and night-times I've taken the path less traveled to re-define ideas, images and feelings about big and wild things like: fear, threat, danger and safety. That less traveled path is the one not trodden by habit. If there is one big, big thing this journey of healing from MCS has taught me it's this: the choice is ultimately mine! Blaming others for the habits or choices they make that (might) affect me is my habit. Habits and expectations are locked in if left unquestioned and last October 15th I made a choice to choose differently. Changing is difficult mostly because I have to keep believing the change is worth the discomfort; the water is deep when you launch from solidity of shallow water. The muscles for swimming new and deeper water (change) are unused to the exercise. For me, one of the muscles that needed exercise is the muscle that make my mouth say, "NO. No. nO." No, this is not for me. No, I have had enough and I'm leaving now. No, you don't really know what's best for me."


We watched the 2009 movie The Soloist the other night. The film is based on a true story of Nathaniel Ayers, a musician who develops schizophrenia and becomes homeless. If we had not 'become homeless' and without a house for seven months ourselves, the film would have struck me differently. Since we have the memory and the experience of being without a house the drama played notes on my internal strings: notes in minor keys the haunting and lower notes that bring up grief and sorrow. The most potent lines of the film were spoken by the social worker-maybe the director of the homeless shelter LAMP, when he is dogged by the well-meaning journalist who 'discovered' the musical genius Nathaniel Ayers  in the Los Angeles' Skid Row. The journalist is sure that the solution or fix for Ayers is therapy and drugs. "You can do that, right! Diagnose him and treat him with drugs. (paraphrased).' The answer the journalist receives is something like this: "These people have diagnosis, upon diagnosis. They don't need or want one more diagnosis; and drugs? Which drug haven't they had. LAMP is a program based on the belief that names its goal: HOUSING FIRST.

"The approach we use, and helped to pioneer, is called Housing First or permanent supportive housing. Conventional wisdom has long said that homeless people with disabilities had to “straighten up” before they could obtain housing. But people with severe disabilities cannot access treatment, let alone make dramatic changes in their lives, while struggling to survive on the streets.

 " Housing First approaches are based on the concept that a homeless individual or household's first and primary need is to obtain stable housing, and that other issues that may affect the household can and should be addressed once housing is obtained. In contrast, many other programs operate from a model of "housing readiness" — that is, that an individual or household must address other issues that may have led to the episode of homelessness prior to entering housing...

Our Quonset is now fully enclosed and mostly sealed against the dampness that moves back into the woods for winter. The look of a Long House creates joy. Pete is off for a few hours of his away-from-home work, but as he prepared to leave he turned around. I was hugging him but he could still look over my head. "It's just where I wanted to be before it starts to rain." We have lived in many places, and many on-lookers would never call these places "home" as they look on: a front yard in a Windward O'ahu residence; a driveway for the night; a parking lot stall along the white sandy shores of a Hawaiian beach ...

Watching The Soloist rewound memories just enough to bring me to the crossroads of my road less traveled; the one where I understand to stay off the trodden path of an incited amygdala. To have a house that we call home ushered us into this space "a homeless individual or household's first and primary need is to obtain stable housing, and that other issues that may affect the household can and should be addressed once housing is obtained."As the New Moon and the Pleiades signal the beginning of a New Year approaching I write from the comfort of that housing obtained. Without housing my decision to begin retraining my ancient brain ... the one that is ignited and left in the fully-on position, the one that is probably living with most homeless, was not an option. Timing is divine, we have made sense of trauma and come to a new island, a place where we are housed and at home.

Home ... inside a well-built nest

Homelessness is an equal opportunity experience. Exemption is not guaranteed, and the fix? No easy solutions. But, there is a grace to the potency of a New Moon intention to "try to get along (Libra) with a broader range (Jupiter) of people." The gray skies mute the senses today. I think of the many new relationships I have experienced since committing to retraining my amygdala; practicing limits and exercising my mouth and mind to say "No" and mean it. A year of practice and I can feel how much more space I have in my heart for "Yes!" I'm just where I hoped to be before winter came.

Get fired up ... get fired up ... get fired up

That's the former Blue-sides kitchen at the end of the path

We're busy piecing together the newest version of our Quonset kitchen, transforming the small blue sided hut into a Long House blessed by Ravens. All around us the activity of the season shifting models for Pete and me: gather nuts, eat the sweet, sweet berries now, sleep early rise early. Get fired up, get fired up, get fired up ... winter's coming so get that fire in your belly now.

Life and death, short visits, long friendships. Shifting skies and solar returns. So many thoughts have been jumbling through my mind: busy innards, juggling, tossing, struggling. Across the ocean Aunty L. passes last of the female elders in my family I feel her let go of the oars and the stars call me from sleep to witness the passing ... Makali'i (The Pleiades) rising in the early morning; space for one more is made.

We're busy piecing together the Long House blessed by Ravens. A pair of the shiny black winged ones swoop and call above as Pete works at the steel corner curve. Four more feet this new extension offers us. Four feet, four years, we have been moving toward this expanded space to be with Ravens who dance and scold and watch for signs of hesitation: Forgotten have they? Forgotten have they the lessons, the habits of hesitation stilling them when all that is needed is to get fired up, fired up, fired up. It might have been the box of lettuce heads that tempted Raven to get as close as that. Or maybe, the sight of the beautiful Long House in colors just right for the shiny long black feathered-ones brought them for an even closer look.

We're busy piecing together a nest-building life that is more bird-like and animal by the day. Looking back at the choices, the situations and the cross roads where each of us individually, or together as a pair decided to go that way, do that thing now or wait till later looking back gives only so much food for moving forward or living fully in the moment. Yesterday we received word that we did not receive the grant to help us with our nest-building this winter. We are disappointed. Rejection is never easy. Other people are more desperate for help, more in need now. But the panel of decision makers were 'impressed with our upgrade plan.' Five years ago we were probably among those the decision makers would have deemed more in need. Now, we are nest-builders who have begun a time when the wildness of birds and the application of that inner fire simply fuels us to be birds.

Tomorrow evening an Audubon gathering is planned a few miles north of our nest. We hope to be there. The topic Life Among the Trees seems perfect for us.

"Learn how the trees and other plants in our local forests provide habitats for birds and other creatures, and how birds in turn shape the forest. Steve and Martha Ellis will focus on the factors that influence these forest types and the seasonal use by birds. They'll also highlight specific locations for each of these types of forest and give tips on how to find the birds among the trees."

We're busy piecing together a nest-building life among the trees in a fashion that is different than many humans; similar to birds though different, too. Not exactly a guerrilla life-style we do nonetheless live outside the box of many systems. Astrologically, I found this blog post written by Satori over on ElsaElsa to be an angle worth chewing on. This is snip of that wonderful angle from a former tobacconist.

..."With Saturn conjunct Mercury and aspecting Chiron you’re likely to run into situations where people get triggered by perceptions that bring up past wounding. Mercury sextiles Venus and both quincunx Uranus. With Mercury conjunct Saturn, this can result in snap judgements, yours and theirs. Making judgments limits your perception. When you slow down your rush to judgement and allow more time to gather your thoughts and perceptions, you allow a more complete picture to emerge. Reality is a continuum, not a moment in time cast in stone"

I particularly like the last two lines.

And finally as I flush through the days and nights since last I sat to post a ramble here, I found this marvelous example of art made from the everyday passion -- the fire within, made good in the every day. Another example of Kickstarter's viral influence on a world that really is more magic and wildness that many will allow. A couple of artists, one with a name so similar to my (last name) I couldn't help but love it are seeing America as the Trading Tortoise. Watch this for a bowl of inspiration and fire for your belly. I love this world!

Raven art credit:
Raven Silhouette clipart
from Clker.com

"There must be more to life than having everything"

“There must be more to life than having everything.”
― Maurice Sendak

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

The sky is that soft flannel blanket blue and from my window in the vardo Mahina the moon is crisp against it present in her cap of white, her day hat for it is nearly the 'Ole Phases. Present for those who notice, our only moon reflects the sun's light so we can see the wild and wondrous things that are inside.This has been a wild, wild week. Astrologically the past seven days were described like this[subscribe to Elsa's weekly newsletter for a weekly plan that might help]: "This will be one of the most dynamic and challenging weeks we've seen this year.  We're two t-squares and a poorly aspected, explosive full moon in Aries. It makes sense you be armed with a plan so that's what I'll offer." I have been wrestling with issues folks like me at near age 65 are challenged to deal with: Medicare-- to pay for health insurance, or not to pay for health insurance. This post is NOT going to be a debate about health insurance. Instead here is a place where an elder in training picks up her digging stick once again and asks: What's best for her now? Saturn moves into Scorpio (where many planets and interactions take place for me) tomorrow, October 5, 2012. I attend to the heaven's pathways and here's something from Eric Francis I'm considering:

"You are approaching one of the boldest “get serious” moments of your life, a process spanning nearly three years... I’ve described Saturn in your Sun sign (or in your rising sign) as an extended phase of coming to terms with yourself. Said another way, this transit is about becoming your own inner authority, something that few people ever do—and which is much likelier with Saturn in your neighborhood. One sad story of our society is people refusing to grow up; other people continue to have authority over their choices and even their opinions. Saturn in your sign can feel like authority figures or seemingly more powerful people imposing themselves on you. This is a reminder to take authority over all of those aspects of your life, and many more where you anticipate this kind of involvement by others..."

Many "get serious" moments fill my life; internal conflict is tattooed into my astrological chart.The years of living seriously with multiple chemical sensitivities gifted me with an incredible remembering, or what I described in my mythic memoir Wood Craft (soon to be published!) as reassembling.

From Wood Craft this description, "Reassembling is  version of recycling beliefs and attitudes that no longer served the original design of Creation. Bits of the original belief or attitude might have sustaining value. Rather than throw the whole kit and caboodle out, to become part of the Cosmic Heap, the wise Creators gave us the inspiration to simply reassemble and start again without too harsh a melt-down, if at all possible."

From this beautiful place in the woods, my family and I continue reassembling a life that is built upon foundations that are less grand; built less on hubris and more with humility. The extended clear and dry season allows us to rebuild the 8x8 Quonset hut adding more space for two old dears and their cat to enjoy a comfortable winter, stretched out together on chairs around a sweet round table for hot food and lively conversation. Not too much to expect, and definitely a progression over the past five years. Our choices to build what we build has been influenced on all levels by our finely-tuned connection to how we build and why. No longer willing to believe that if we had everything we would be happy, we needed first to live within -- diving into the deep tunnels and hidden compartments of beliefs to make sure we know our contents, and own them. Last night Pete and I were glad to climb onto the futon after a hot shower toweled dry with a clean bath towel.

Pete had worked all day and into the early evening muscling the long sheets of weathered copper and red siding that will be our new Quonset. Steel is unforgiving in his tensile strength. Screwed in place against the curved frames there are slight wobbles to the shape of things, and the paint will need to off-gas more before my tender eyes do not weep from their volatility. Lengths of salvaged green canvas needs to be cut and sown into ribbons to hold our winter pouches of insulation in place. The wooden table under the apple tree waits for me to finish my ribbon-making; after a romp with words I tell the table and the green canvas ... soon back to you I'll come.

Settled onto the futon, under a jumble of cozy blankets we pushed into a movie and watched and listened to the story of Max and his wild rumpus with The Wild Things. Five years ago the reassembling process for these two old dears began in earnest. There was no turning back, only moving steadily forward down the stream, over the rapids and onto sand bars for rests and rejuvenation; then dive we do again as life awaits us.

“I have nothing now but praise for my life. I'm not unhappy. I cry a lot because I miss people. They die and I can't stop them. They leave me and I love them more...What I dread is the isolation. ... There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready.”
― Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are

And you?